


To Your Own Beat

by orphan_account



Category: Hiveswap, Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Casual Sex, Casual Sex/Hookups, Earth C (Homestuck), M/M, time shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-23
Updated: 2020-08-23
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:54:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26059072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Your name is Marvus Xoloto. You've lived on Earth C for as long as you can remember, but sometimes you aren't quite sure of that. The first time you see him, it strikes you that maybe he isn't quite sure either.
Relationships: Marvus Xoloto/Dave's Bro | Beta Dirk Strider
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8
Collections: Drone Season 2020





	To Your Own Beat

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nachttour](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nachttour/gifts).



> Prompt Fill for Drone Season! I've never written Marvus Before, so this was a lot of fun!

You don’t know when the feeling started, the off feeling settled deep in your chest. It was in the beat of your pusher, the rush of your blood, the clock whose ticks reverberated through your bones and existed only in your chest. At some point you had noticed the difference, the tick and beat of the world around you just a hint off of your internal clock. You aren’t sure if it’s always been that way, if you had always been out of sync or if it had happened so slowly that it seemed all at once.

It’s not like being off beat doesn’t have its uses though, feeling just a breath off from the rest of the planet has done wonders for your music. The beat thrums against your pusher as you stand on stage, the microphone in your hand keeping you grounded as you let yourself follow the out of sync rhythm only you seem to be privy to.

Sometimes you feel like you were just plopped down on this planet, like you don’t quite belong. You see splatters of color when you sing, an instinct of danger, a moment of surprise when a human startles you out of your own thoughts. You remember schooling, your lusus, the humans you grew up with and yet…this planet doesn’t feel like yours.

The crowd never knows which way your lyrics are going to turn, but they cheer and rave about how they know exactly what you mean when you rap about being a stranger in your own home. And you smile and lie through your fangs because you don’t know how to tell them they don’t have a fucking clue.

It’s no different tonight.

You stand on the stage, a barely lifted part of the club’s floor that wouldn’t do much to put you above the crowd if you weren’t already as tall as you were. The dance floor is crowded with humans and trolls alike, the sound almost loud enough to drown out your own thoughts. It’s exhilarating and the closest to normal you think you can feel as you bring the microphone to your lips.

“Who’s ready to get this started?” you say with a flash of fangs, your eyes sliding around the room. The dark corners of the club are littered with people sipping drinks and pairs moments away from pailing in the bathroom. A roar from the crowd draws you back, the speakers doing their damn best to outdo the frantic screams as you nod to the DJ. You don’t recognize this one, a human in reflective shades that probably were hell to see through in the club. Still, you can appreciate the dedication. He nods back and the beat drops hard enough to feel it in your bones.

Words flow from you fluidly, every syllable falling into place and drawing the crowd closer. You watch them press against each other, some losing themselves in the music and others clearly trying to keep up with the words. The energy of the room grows higher with each line, building to a peak like a mountain…or the edge of a cliff.

It’s no different than any other night.

It’s no different…until it is.

When he first catches your eye, he’s leaning against the back wall, a sneaking suspicion in the back of your pan betting against no one that he’s not here to be seen. He’s tall for a human, broad enough to fill out the white polo that looks oh so out of place at the back wall of a night club. A hat hides his hair from your sight at this angle and when he adjusts it you can see the fingerless gloves he’s wearing. An odd outfit choice to come hang out alone in, without even a drink in his hand to help him blend in. Still, no one else seems to be looking at him, not even the lonelier patrons at the bar.

You scan the room again, though you can’t help looking back at the man. For the first time in sweeps your voice almost falters in its rhythm, because even through the odd shades he’s wearing you can feel the moment your eyes meet.

It sounds like a bad Trollmark movie cliché, even in your head, but you can feel it in your chest as the out of sync beat matches someone for the first time.

He doesn’t belong here either.

You blink and he’s gone, noticed by no one but you and leaving no trace behind.

After your set you ask around, only getting odd looks and propositions for your trouble.

It’s a week later when you see him again. Your performance for the night had come and gone, one of the line of drinks sent your way in your hand. A fruity fizz spread across your tongue and furrowed into your brain, not near enough to threaten your tolerance but enough to spread a comfortable haze over you. A comfortable enough haze that when you catch sight of a white polo across the floor, you’re on your feet and ignoring the protests of the most persistent fans. They seem satisfied by the easy grin you flash them before they disappear from view.

He’s against the wall again, his eyes on the stage again and his mouth set into a grimace.

You lean against the wall before you speak, the same feeling tugging you in when you meet his shades. You want to explore it, to explore him and all the other ways you might be in sync.

“Lookin for someone?” you ask, watching him obviously look you over despite the shades.

He shoots one last look to the stage before raising an eyebrow. “Maybe.”

“Find em?” You give him a similar look over, hoping he feels the same draw you do. There’s _something_ there, and even if he doesn’t feel it the way his expression shifts certainly seems to show some kind of interest.

“Certainly found someone,” he says, his voice even and low but impossible to miss despite the noise of the club. “I don’t really make a habit of taking strays home though.”

That pulls a laugh from you and you run a hand across his shoulders as you point him toward a door in the corner. The muscle coiled under the fabric is something you’ll have to keep in mind. You weren’t quite sure where this was going to go when you came over here, but you aren’t about to complain about it.

Besides, you knew there were more ways to figure someone out than talking.

“I wouldn’t mind takin you upstairs though,” you offer. His lips twitch into a brief smirk and your interest only grows.

He barely takes a moment to think before he’s walking to the door, the security guard glancing at you for an approving nod before he opens it.

The sound of the club fades as you move up the stairs, the hallway at the top narrow enough that you have to slide around him to lead him to the correct door. You don’t live here, but you sleep here enough to have a room that’s been thoroughly declared yours. Of course...you don’t usually have company.

You unlock and open the door with a wink, stepping out of the way to let him in. The room itself is cozy, the ceiling just tall enough to not catch your horns and the bed similarly just big enough. There is a dresser in the corner and a window covered in a thick curtain to complete the room, but you don’t think you’ll be paying any attention to the room in a few minutes.

He watches you lock the door, taking off his hat and tossing it onto the dresser. A shock of blonde hair springs forward, further messed by him running a hand through it.

You can feel his eyes on you as you slip off your jacket, the shirt beneath not doing much to keep your chest covered. You shoot a wink at him. “What? Not gonna ask if I bring a lotta people up here?”

He’s across the room before you can blink, his fingers slipping under the hem of your shirt. “Does it really matter?” he says gruffly, the rough callouses of his hands catching at the smooth skin of your stomach. He knows what he wants, pulling you forward. You’re glad he’s tall enough to press his mouth to yours without too much bending on your part, his tongue deftly pressing past your lips to swipe over your fangs.

The taste of him replaces the last of the syrup on your tongue and you nip at his tongue lightly before returning the kiss. He was the opposite of showy, knowing where and how to touch for the reaction he was aiming for. He was all business, straight to the point with the end already in sight.

You feel the edge of the bed hit your knees and let him push you back onto it. He smirks down at you and you get the feeling he’s used to people letting him take charge. You don’t plan on letting him have all the fun, but for the moment you sit back and watch him take off his shirt without disturbing the glasses.

When you open your mouth to comment he’s on you again, his blunt human teeth tugging at your lip. You let him kneel between your legs, wrapping them around his waist and raking your claws lightly down his bare back. A noise slips from him and you grin against his lips as you try to draw more out.

A rough hand moves to your grubscars, his thumb pressing firmly against the point where they meet your skin and pulling a groan from you as heat rushes to your sheathe. He takes the opportunity to move down your neck, teeth sinking in hard enough to bruise but not break your skin. His thigh pushes up between your legs and you feel like an instrument for how easily he’s playing you. When you grind down against him you can feel his smirk on your neck, his free hand hooking in the waist of your pants.

You press a little harder against him, putting your hands on his shoulders and using the momentum to flip the two of you and press him to the bed. He looks surprised when you push yourself onto your hands, the most expression you’ve seen from him this entire time.

“I know you’re eager but fuck this ain’t a race,” you laugh, sitting up to strip off your own shirt and toss it to the side. His hands are on your hips, not really trying to move you but definitely seeing how easily you’d flip back. You don’t move an inch, taking your turn to smirk down at him and feeling something hard press against your ass in response.

That only widens your grin as you lean forward, hooking his shades with one claw and quickly pulling them off. “Hey- “he starts, but shuts up when your claw presses against his lips.

“I can’t tell what ya like if you’re hidin half you’re face,” you shrug, placing the glasses aside a little more carefully than you’d done your shirt and looking at him. His eyes are an amber that you don’t think you’ve seen on a human before, the beat that had pulled you to him before infinitely stronger. He tries to keep his face stoic, but you roll your hips against his and take his gasp as a change to slip your finger between his lips. For a moment you think he’s actually going to bite you, but the falter in his expression clearly isn’t one of anger when he runs his tongue over the digit. You think you’re starting to figure him out, at least a little.

Another roll of your hips has you both breathing a little harder, the crotch of your pants damp where they meet your nook. If you don’t get them off soon, you’re not going to be able to leave here in these, another flash of heat rolling through you and centering at your bulge. You pull your finger free of his mouth, your nook dripping fresh slurry into your pants as his head follows it. Not about to let his mouth be empty for long, you lean forward and kiss him far more roughly than before, your hands thoroughly occupied in shoving your pants far enough past your knees to kick them off.

“So, tell me,” you say breathlessly, grazing your fangs against his ear as his hands go for your grubscars again. “What name should I be gettin ready to let the neighbors hear?”

He moves a hand to grab the base of your horn and pull your mouth hard enough against his for your fang to catch his lip. He lets you pull back far enough for him to lick away the blood that bubbles up, the smirk right back on his lips. “Ambrose. Probably should have asked names before clothes started comin off.”

“Yeah that shit’s rude as fuck,” you laugh. “You know mine?”

“Been here enough times to hear it.” He pulls you down again and you can taste the metal of his blood this time, actually moaning into his mouth when he rubs the rough denim of his pants to your bare nook. You are less than sorry for the stain it’s going to leave when you grind back down, the friction enough for your bulge to finally press out into the cold air.

He puts a hand on your chest and you sit up, backing up enough for him to shimmy out of his jeans and toss them aside. He’s wearing exactly as much underwear as you were, and your eyes find his human bulge almost immediately.

You aren’t the only one staring, his eyes clearly on your bulge without the glasses to hide them. With a wide grin you press back forward, pushing his back against the headboard and letting your bulge wrap around his erection. The moan he gives in response is more than enough for you to start actually moving your hips, capturing his lips again. He’s moving against you too, one hand returning to your horn and the other squeezing your thigh for leverage as he thrusts through the coils of your bulge.

Your thighs are already getting slick with slurry, your bulge squeezing him with each thrust as he rocks harder against you. It’s obvious he could finish like this, but although the friction is pushing you toward the edge you know it’s not going to be enough.

Pulling back for a moment, you let your bulge uncoil as you lay him back down again. His purple slicked cock twitches against the cold air, precum already beading at the tip. “What the fuck?” he hisses out, catching his breath and going to pull you down again by the horns when you lift his hips.

Your bulge happily responds by curling against his ass, the tip experimentally pressing against his hole. A shiver visibly rocks through him at the feeling his eyes meeting yours as he sucks in a breath. The fang filled smirk you give him might be a little more shit eating than necessary, as is the way you waggle your eyebrows. “You up for this?”

He rolls his eyes at your expression, though whatever he starts to say dies in his throat when the tip of your bulge presses against him again. It’s not trying to get inside, not yet, just testing the muscle of the entrance. “You’d better have lube,” is all he says, grinding back against the thick bulge squirming against him.

“I’ve got all we need right here,” you assure him before biting the points of two claws off. You let him pull you into another kiss that lets him grind against your stomach, smearing pre and slurry across it.

You ghost the fingers over your nook before dipping them inside yourself, curling and spreading them more to coat them than to help yourself along. You’re going to be doing plenty of that soon.

He lets out a little hiss when you press the first finger in, though you try to pace yourself. You draw it out a bit before thrusting it back in, repeating this and adding the second finger after he’s loosened up a bit.

Your other hand wraps around his weeping dick as you work him open, his hips thrusting between your hand and your fingers. There’s a soft whine as you pull your fingers out of him, but it doesn’t last long as your bulge quickly tries to fill the empty space. You have to pull your hips back to keep it from cramming into him all at once.

For someone so stoic before, his face gives away so much now, his teeth catching his lip as you ease your bulge into him. You’re honestly surprised by how well he’s taking it, but you keep your pace slow.

That is, until he wraps his legs around your waist and slams the rest of you into himself. Before you can even ask if he needs a second, he bites roughly at your ear and hisses impatiently. “Fucking fuck me already.”

You don’t have to be told twice, pulling out almost completely before thrusting back into him. His back arches against you and his blunt nails dig into your back as you set a downright merciless pace.

He thrusts back against you just as hard, the slap of skin on skin only broken by the faintest squelch of the slurry already covering both of you. There’s a unison to it that only makes it better, the two of you moving perfectly in time. This is the sync you were so eager to explore, the off-beat perfection of two out of time clocks moving in a harmony that you didn’t realize existed.

The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust and you wouldn’t be surprised if the club could hear you call his name over the music, but you almost welcome it. You feel the swirling heat of release building at the base of your bulge, slowing down a fraction and pulling out enough to warn him. He responds by locking his arms around you and fully seating himself on your bulge again, tugging at your hair as he urges you faster again.

You grab his thighs and pin them to the mattress, adjusting the angle of your hips as you give a final brutal thrust. Your name pours from his lips for the first time as his back arches and his cock spurts ropes of pearly cum across his chest.

He clamps down around you, yanking you over the edge with him as you flood his chute with wave after wave of purple slurry. Your claws dig into his thighs as you remain buried in him, only pulling out after every drop has been milked from you. Purple spills out onto the sheets, but you couldn’t care less about those.

Exhaustion quickly settles through the euphoria and you collapse beside him, draping your arm over his chest and panting. You can feel him catching his breath, not quite looking at you. Neither of you move, the room silent aside from the slowly steadying breathing of two people slipping from bliss to sleep.

When you wake up, he’s gone, though you aren’t sure what you expected. You push yourself to sit up, a satisfying soreness spreading through your muscles like you just had a good workout. Which you suppose isn’t _inaccurate_.

You need to get hive and shower…and warn the club manager about the sheets up here. It takes you a moment to find your clothes and pull the on, something that wasn’t in your pocket before now sticking out.

A business card.

You can feel the smirk spreading across your face as you read over the text.

_Ambrose Strider_

_Freelance D.J._

_(XXX) XXX-XXX_

You pull on your jacket and head out to find the club owner and let them know who they should look into hiring next.

You haven’t heard his music yet…but you get the feeling you’ll just go together.


End file.
